


8 Ways To Say I Love You [Clintasha Edition]

by execution_empress



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Drabble, Drabble Collection, F/M, Prompt Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-01
Updated: 2014-08-28
Packaged: 2017-11-27 19:56:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 5,834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/665846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/execution_empress/pseuds/execution_empress
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based on Thought Catalog's <i><a href="http://thoughtcatalog.com/2012/8-ways-to-say-i-love-you/">8 Ways To Say I Love You,</a></i> there's 8 different ways for Clint and Natasha to finally express how they feel.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Voicemail and Vodka

**Author's Note:**

> After reading the list, I took the list as suggestions for my favorite couple. The results are just fluffy little drabbles made by moi. I hope everyone enjoys! ♥

_1\. Spit it into her voicemail, a little slurred and sounding like the shot whiskey you downed for courage. Feel as ashamed as you do walking into work in last night’s clothes. Wake up cringing for days, waiting for her to mention it._

It takes shot after shot of vodka, leaving the bottle just about empty, for her to take the risk. Shot glass knocked over, she holds the bottle in one hand and her phone in the other. His name is easy to find when he is her most recent call. As ring after ring pass, she can only get to his voicemail, but that is enough. He’s on a mission with only minutes to spare each day. She can’t say it to his face and hearing his response almost instantly makes her heart race so loud and so fast she can’t hear a thing, so the best way is by voicemail. There’s fire in her voice, a slur licking at the edges, as she says, “Clint, you dumbass, it’s ‘Tasha. I have to tell you - I love you! I’ve loved you for a while, you idiot! Couldn’t you tell? Come back to me. I’ll say it again n’ again.” She hangs up and finishes the bottle, letting the liquid courage burn down her throat. When she’s done, she stumbles to the couch, passing out as her head practically hits the cushion.

The next day she’s rewarded with a hangover and embarrassment. That embarrassment turns to shame as she spends each day avoiding his calls and burying herself in work. It’s only when he shows up a week later at her door, a bandage over his cheek and arm, that she can finally face him. Before she can even talk, his arms wrap around her in a tight embrace. Neither of them say a word. They laugh and cry and lose themselves in kisses and touches. Neither of them remember the fear that once consumed them. They only feel the warmth of relief and that’s enough.


	2. Wedged Between Tongues and Lips

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Three little words are revealed in a kiss.

_2\. Sigh it into her mouth, wedged in between teeth and tongues. Don’t even let your lips move when you say it, ever so lightly, into the air. Maybe it was just an exhalation of ecstasy._

Cupping her cheeks, Clint dips down, his lips hovering over hers. Her eyes close in anticipation and he watches, his own blue eyes half-lidded, wanting to catch every little reaction from her for as long as he can. He can see the way she eagerly waits, her lips parting just a bit when his breath ghosts over, then the way she bites her bottom lip as she becomes more anxious. In just a small gesture, but it’s a mixture of cute and sexy and it excites him. He smiles, heart fluttering at the knowledge that she’s waiting for _him._ She wants him like he wants her and that excites him even more. 

Lips barely touch and it’s far more erotic than he realizes. Another phantom kiss elicits a soft gasp from Natasha. He runs his hand through her hair to cradle the back of her head while his other hand trails around to the small of her back. He presses her against him and she drapes her arms around his neck, both of them desperate to be as close as they can be. He’s not sure if her heart is pounding so hard or if it’s his own or if somehow both hearts are beating as one. He just knows she smells so good and she’s so beautiful, especially when her green eyes start to open, and she’s in his arms and his, all his. 

Unable to tease any longer, Clint kisses her hungrily and feeds off the shudder of her body and the moan escaping her throat. He can taste coffee and sugar and something sweeter, far sweeter, that’s just Natasha. Her nails dig into his back and he can’t help but groan in response. The blissful pain just reminds him that it’s not a dream, it’s all too real, and it’s all too wonderful.

He breaks the kiss only long enough to murmur her name. “Tash.” Kiss. “Tasha.” Kiss. “Nat.” Kiss. A soft sound leaves her lips and he knows he has her attention. His hands are so sweaty but he can’t let go. Another break and his lips barely move. “I love you.” His heart swells at his admission, unsure yet hopeful at how she’ll react. She doesn’t stop the kiss, but rather drags her nails down his back a bit. She presses against him in another needy kiss and he’s sure then her heart is in rhythm with his. He doesn’t stop kissing and he doesn’t stop slipping in those same three words.

It’s like a sigh of relief between their lips. It’s like a moan of ecstasy in their mouths. It passes back and forth as murmurs and whispers and it’s addicting, like sugar and vodka and danger and life.

“I love you.”


	3. Like Every Romantic Comedy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A date is asked and something so cliche is just nerve-wracking.

_3\. Buy her flowers. Buy her chocolate. Buy her a teddy bear, because that’s what every romantic comedy has taught you. Take her out to a nice restaurant where neither of you feel comfortable and spend the whole night clearing your throat and tugging at your tie. Feel like your actions are more suited to a proposal than the simple confession of something you’ve always known._

Some days you just have to humor someone and go with the flow. When Clint asks Natasha on a ‘proper date,’ the redhead is at first skeptical. He can see it in the raised eyebrow and the roll of her eyes. He insists he has an idea, so she chuckles under her breath and agrees, knowing this is one of those days. Being asked on a proper date isn’t something Clint would normally do, but if he has an idea, she can’t say no. She has to see what it is.

On the day of the date, Natasha is dashing in red. Clint comes to her door with a box of chocolates and a bouquet of roses and baby’s breath. It’s so cliche, but she can’t help but smile. It’s his definition of a proper date. She puts the flowers in a vase and sets the chocolates on a table. Grabbing her coat, she leaves with him, only to be greeted with a plush hawk in the car.

Her laugh sounds like the tinkling of bells. She picks up the stuffed bird and runs her fingers along the furry material. “A hawk? Really?”

“It’s so you won’t forget me,” he teases, winking at her. He takes a wing and shakes it, like the bird is waving at her.

“I couldn’t forget you, even if I tried.” She leans down to kiss the hawk on the head. He leans down to kiss her forehead. She’s slightly surprised but even more charmed. There’s something about forehead kisses that make her heart skip a beat.

“Then cuddle with him when I’m not around. It’ll be like I’m really there.” Chuckling, she starts to lean in but he’s quicker and his lips steal a kiss just as her smile grows. 

It’s a bit of a drive to a five star restaurant. After valet takes his car, she takes his arm and the two walk inside. There’s fresh flowers and a fountain and an orchestra playing soothing, romantic music. A reservation brings them to a table by the window, where they can overlook the ocean. It screams cliche romance that’s breathtaking and flattering, but it’s also something either spy is not used to.

“Clint, are you sure? This is all so extravagant and-”

“-And you deserve so much more.” He’s corny, but smooth. She rolls her eyes and smirks as she sits down.

“How often do you use that line?” She chuckles and he looks vaguely insulted as he hands her the menu.

“Hey, I mean it. I brought you out here for a reason, Tasha.”

“Oh? And what reason is that?”

He smirks at her and uses the menu to really hide his feigned confidence. He’s gone against aliens and shot at mythological gods and saved the world countless times. Admitting one little thing was scarier than anything he’s faced before. “In due time. In due time.” Natasha’s interest is peaked, but all she can do is wait. 

They order only the best; champagne and steak, salads and soups and caviar, and even a decadent chocolate cake for dessert. Though they laugh and smile as they talk, they’re still nervous. Her eyes glance over at the waves and the setting sun while he stares at her. He fixes his tie, feeling more and more nervous. She looks absolutely beautiful that he isn’t sure he should ruin the peaceful moment with a simple confession. She feels his eyes on her and after a moment, when the feeling doesn’t flee, she turns to him with a smile on her lips.

“What’s wrong? Is something the matter?” There’s a slight giggle on her voice and she sounds so at ease that it makes him even more anxious. “You can tell me.” He glances down and she takes his calloused hand, giving him a reassuring squeeze. He doesn’t look back up just yet. He pulls her hand to his lips to press one kiss after another.

Though he’s nervous, he tries not to show it. He glances up from her hand, a symphony of blues and greys reflecting her image back to her and so much more. She’s silenced with a faint blush on her cheeks and rewarded with his husky voice. “After dinner, Tasha. I promise.” His eyes glance out the window, where she was looking before, and she follows his line of vision to the beach. “Out there, okay?”

All she can do is nod. He grins, considering it an honor to render her speechless. She's more curious than speechless, but the look on his face is worth the secret. Appetizers and drinks come one after another. After gorging themselves on their meal and dessert, they leave out another door and head for the beach. 

They take off their shoes before walking on the sand. They walk as the sky darkens and the crescent moon hangs in the sky. He takes her hand and she notices his palm is sweaty, but doesn’t say a word. Instead she slips her fingers between his. They continue talking and chuckle and nudge one another, all up until he stops. When he looks to her it’s his turn to be rendered speechless.

His heart is caught in his throat and he’s nervous again. The moonlight envelops Natasha and makes her look breathtakingly beautiful. Her skin looks like porcelain, her eyes like emeralds. It’s the sort of thing she’d hate to hear, but it’s what he sees. For someone whose done a lot of bad, she’s all that’s good in the world. The one person worth saving. As it all runs through his mind, he feels his mouth run dry. His heart is caught in his throat and he’s nervous again.

Tilting her head, the curls brushing against her cheeks, she asks, “Clint? What’s wrong? You said you’d tell me out here.”

He nods because she’s right. He knows he has to tell her or else she’ll never know. He licks his lips and makes sure to look right into her eyes. He takes a deep breath as he finally confesses, “Tasha, I just- you have to know this.”

“What is it?”

“I- I love you.”

Natasha stares at him for a moment, like she didn’t hear what he said. When she doesn’t reply, his heart sinks. He’s scared but he repeats himself. “I love you. I love you. I love you so-”

With her hands on his cheeks, he’s silenced with a kiss. Clint’s eyes widen. His hands immediately find her waist as he holds her close. Her reply is written on her lips and slipped in the kiss. He can feel the passion she expresses. No words are needed as they only part briefly to catch their breath. When they kiss again, their feelings are known.


	4. A Whisper at Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's only at night when one of them can admit something important.

_4\. Whisper it into her hair in the middle of the night, after you’ve counted the space between her breaths and are certain she’s asleep. Shut your eyes quickly when she shifts toward you in askance. Maybe you were just sleep whispering._

It’s only when the two are in bed together, holding each other like lovers do, that they can sleep through the night peacefully. Sometimes they’ll collapse onto the bed, facing one another, with their arms around each other and their legs intertwined. Sometimes they’ll rest after making the bed squeak, going hard and fast and hungry or slow and tender and sensual. Sometimes they’ll switch off, depending who needs it more, but usually one holds and the other rests peacefully on their partner’s chest, calmed by breath and heartbeat, like it’s a reminder that they’re both alive.

After holding his cheek and reassuring him that he was good, after kissing away the nightmares that plagued him since the God of Mischief’s departure, Clint falls asleep in Natasha’s arms, his own arms around her. She listens to his breath, noticing when he breathes in and breathes out. In and out. It’s a long while before a snore escapes his lips and she finds herself relieved. Her fingers run through his sandy hair and she presses a kiss to the top of his head. 

“I love you,” she whispers, the words hanging over them. He responds by squeezing her tightly and letting out a pleased murmur. There’s a smile on his lips, but Natasha is frozen in place. She shuts her eyes and tries to pretend she’s sleeping as well. If he wakes and he asks, it was just a dream. That was all.

He doesn’t wake up and those words still stay hung between them, keeping them together.


	5. Tease

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Natasha can never fully say those three little words. Something always must be added on and it drives Clint crazy.

_5\. Blurt it out in the middle of an impromptu dance party in the kitchen, as clumsy as your two left feet. When time seems to freeze, hastily tack on “in that shirt” or “when you make your award-winning meatballs” or, if you are feeling particularly brave, “when we do this.” Resume dancing and pretend you don’t feel her eyes on you the rest of the night._

If someone else called her a tease, Natasha would twist his arm behind his back and force an apology out of him. Because those very words come from Clint, she just keeps a mysterious smile on her lips. He doesn’t call her a tease because of what she wears or the way she wiggles her hips (except when the two are in the throes of passion, and he hears those words just as much from her). He calls her a tease for what she says. It isn’t the dirty talk that makes her a tease. It’s three little words and how badly he wants to hear them alone.

It happens for the first time on the helicarrier. Before a mission in Budapest, he wears purple and black. It’s a first for him, but he wanted something different. When Natasha sees him she stops and smirks, but Clint believes he saw a faint trace of a smile. When she says, “I love you,” his heart skips a beat and he asks her to repeat herself. “I love you in those colors.” It wasn’t what he was expecting, but it convinces him to wear purple and black more often.

It happens again weeks later, when they’re home nursing wounds and egos. He makes them spaghetti and meatballs, something simple yet filling. She prepares a salad and garlic bread to go with their meal. Elbows and hips bump into each other again and again in the small kitchen. When he steps on her feet, he blushes and apologizes, but she just smiles and chuckles. He’s not sure what’s more distracting: her breasts against his back, her lips brushing against his ear as she whispers something, or hearing the words “I love you” again. He can hardly respond, which makes her chuckle again and repeat herself. “I love you when you cook.” He smiles at her and calls her a tease, but after that day he cooks more often just for the two of them.

Still, she never says “I love you” outright to him. It’s always before something. Though it makes him follow whatever she desires, it’s still not enough. He considers it the biggest tease there is.

“I love you with that haircut.”

“I love you wearing that archer’s glove.”

“I love you when you smirk like that.”

The more he hears it, the more it drives him crazy. He can’t stop staring at her whenever she says it. It’s a tease and the way she smiles and winks at him says more than her words. There’s a million thoughts running through his head and they’re all drowned out by the loud beating of his heart. As often as Clint can snap back some clever words, he’s left dumbfounded by her. In a battle of tongues, he could never win word against word with her.

It most recently happens when they’re waiting for S.H.I.E.L.D. to retrieve them. After a mission gone wrong, they’re left battered and bruised, blood flowing from cuts and gunshot wounds and stabs. There’s blood and dirt caked in her hair and under her nails and there’s worry bagged under her eyes. A shot to his stomach makes it hard for Clint to walk, so Natasha helps him hide. Once they’re safe, tucked away in the shadows, she covers her hand on top of his. He’s already trying to stop the bleeding, so she assumes the added pressure of her hand will help. 

“It’s okay, Clint. They’ll be here soon,” she reassures him. His smile is weak and he just nods. He looks so tired, but she can’t let him go to sleep, so she keeps talking to him. “I love you when you’re brave. I love you when you’re cool and calm and collected. I love you when you’re sarcastic and such a smart-ass. I love you-”

Having enough tacked on those three little words he wants to hear the most, Clint silences her with a kiss. He cups her cheek and responds back with all the passion and emotion he can muster up. And in that brief moment when they both give in, she doesn’t correct him. She doesn’t break away. She lets the words stay between them, weaving a secret that only he would know.

Natasha stays by his side once they’re rescued and slips into his bed when they’re at the hospital. She keeps a few books at her side so when she isn’t sleeping, she’s reading. Though Clint floats in and out of a drug-induced consciousness the first day he’s there, by the second day he’s aware of her next to him. For the longest time, he doesn’t say anything. He watches her read - the way her eyes move from one sentence to the next, the slow rise and fall of her chest, the curve of her lips when she reads something good and something bad - and smiles.

“I love you when you’re lost in a book.”

She looks over at him, her lips curled in a smirk, and replies with a kiss. “Tease.”


	6. Sincerely Yours

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She writes a letter but she doesn't know if she can leave it out for Clint.

_6\. Write her a letter in which the amount of circumnavigating and angst could rival Mr. Darcy’s. Debate where to leave it all day – on her pillow? In her coat pocket? Throw it away in frustration, conveniently leaving it face up in the trashcan, her name scrawled on the front in your sloppy handwriting. Let her wonder if you meant it._

The words flow from her like water from a pitcher. She writes effortlessly, like it’s the easiest thing in the world. Every thought, every idea, every feeling is scribbled on paper. As she writes, there’s a voice in the back of her mind telling her where to leave the letter. On his pillow? He doesn’t need to keep himself up at night over that. In his coat pocket? The last thing he needs to discover on a mission is a half-assed confession. Atop a plate of pancakes or waffles just for him? Tempting, but without coffee and with hunger leading him, he just might eat the letter too. 

She can worry about it later, she decides. Her mind is focused on the task at hand. There’s nothing but him and the racing of her heart. There’s nothing but his smile and her sweaty palms. The memory of his voice makes her body tingle and thinking of it all makes her blush. Thinking of him makes it easier for her to write. As she nears the end of her letter, she writes the one sentence that she can never say and finishes it with her name. Her eyes scan over everything as she proofreads it.

And the more she reads it, the more that dread settles like a lump in her stomach. What was once right is now wrong, what was once profound is now stupid, what was once interesting is now boring. There’s nothing beautiful about her letter. It’s a pathetic attempt at something that’ll never be. It’s a pathetic flicker of hope for belief in some childish emotion. It’s not like her to write out her feelings and she doesn’t know why she did so. As despair and frustration fill her, she throws the papers in the recycling bin and walks away.

Later in the day, when Clint goes to throw a can away, he notices the papers with his name neatly scripted on them and becomes curious. He takes them, leaving the can behind, and sits down to read. His face starts to turn warm and his heart skips a beat. Excitement makes it hard for him to read, so he skims the words written down. It’s the long overdue love song of a woman too guarded and too hard to love, who owes a debt because it’s the only reason she can bring herself to say anything remotely close to what she feels. She doesn’t want to ruin what they have so she’d rather stay in range, even if it leaves her frustrated. She yearns for the one that gave her a second chance, yet doesn’t give herself one to protect a fragile heart. 

The final words leave his mouth dry as he reads _I love you, Clint Barton. I love you. Sincerely, Natasha Romanoff._ and he doesn’t know what to do. Does he tell her he read what she threw away? Was he meant to find it or was she not ready? He wants to believe she meant every last word. He has hope that she did, because who could write so beautifully if they didn’t? Natasha may have a way with words, but she also has a way with his heart.

Clint puts the papers aside and goes to find her. When he does, she greets him but she can see there is something on his mind. He hugs her so quickly and so tightly that she almost spills her coffee. She can’t even question him as his lips smash against hers. He lets his embrace tell her he found the letter and his kiss tells her his response.


	7. Idiot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A mission gone wrong makes Clint realize something important.

_7\. Wait until something terrible has happened and you can’t not tell her anymore. Wait until she almost gets hit by a car crossing Wabash against the light and after you are done cursing at the shit-for-brains cab drivers in this city, realize you are actually just terrified of living without her. Tell her with your hands shaking._

It smells sterile, of soap and cleaner and medicine. It’s florescent lights and squeaky wheels and nurses laughing in the halls. It’s should be what relieves him, but rather it’s what he dislikes the most. Even if it means one of them is alive, it’s the nagging thought clawing from the back of his mind. It’s a reminder of how close they are to death.

It’s never her fault though. It’s Fury, for giving her the assignment. It’s Coulson and Hill, for not handling the mission well enough. It’s the thieves and assassins and criminals, the narrow misses by scared drivers, the shoots fired too soon by frantic security guards. It’s never her fault, for her graceful and elegant ways, for her cat-like reflexes and quick wits and controlled smirks. 

It’s his fault for never telling her how he really felt. 

As soon as he’s told that her mission went wrong, his stomach starts to knot. His mission is over the instant he learns she’s at S.H.I.E.L.D.’s hospital wing. Within hours, he’s there to stay at her side. 

She's asleep when he finally arrives. He immediately slumps into the chair, his nerves scattered and frayed. As the quiet room settles around him, the small noises seem louder in his ears. The heart monitor is slow compared to the pace of his own nervous thump. The drip is so loud he wonders if he can only hear it in his mind. He’s so shook up he doesn’t even want to try to read her chart. The only thing he can focus on is the steady rise and fall of her chest.

Clint’s not sure when it happens. It could have been minutes later (though really it felt like hours), it could have been in an instant (it really felt like it took forever), but he falls asleep in the chair. Tired, dirty, worried, and worn, he still doesn’t find peace in his dreams. Instead it’s her voice, calling out to him, and never being able to reach her.

An arm on his shoulder finally wakes him, and when he looks up she’s there. It’s not an angel with a serene smile on her face. It’s Natasa, still alive, hooked up to monitors and PICC lines. Her face is pale with worry and she asks him, “What’s wrong?” but he can hardly hear it. He can’t hear anything but the fast beating of relief.

“You’re alive! You’re alive. Fuck, Tasha, you’re alive.” His arms wrap around her in a tight embrace. Her head rests on his shoulder and his chest is pressed against hers. She can smell the sweat staining his clothes and feel his racing heart pounding through his chest. It’s so hard she almost mistakes it for her own heartbeat. It’s easy to feel guilty, just because he was so worried, but she doesn’t.

“We’ve been through this before,” she murmurs, her breath brushing against the sensitive skin on his neck. His grip tightens, but he eases as a shiver courses through his body. “You and I both know our jobs might lead us to this. This isn’t even the first time I’ve been in a hospital.”

“I know,” he mumbles, his voice vibrating against the thin hospital gown and her shoulder. He doesn’t raise his head and she sighs.

“So if you know, why are you so worried now?”

“Because I didn’t feel then how I feel now.”

“What?” The two pull apart to look at one another. She looks up at him, he looks down at her. Her steady hands on his arms, his trembling hand cupping her cheek. Her brows are furrowed, unsure and confused, while there’s just a simple smile on his lips. “Clint, what are you-?”

“I know what we are. I know we get put through all sorts of shit and there’s danger everywhere and whatnot, but that’s not so bad. It’s not the worst part of this job.”

The corner of her lips curl up in a smirk. “It’s not?”

“No, it’s not.”

“Only you would think that.”

“The worst part would be if you never knew how I feel.” Her smirk disappears and she just blinks at him. He’s mentioned his feelings before, but she didn’t know how serious he was. He sighs and shakes his head. “Bad timing, I know, but Tasha, I have to tell you, I love you.”

“You… love me?”

“I do. I love you, Tasha. I love you so much.” There’s tears in his eyes and his whole body trembles. Natasha gives his arms a small squeeze and tries to reassure him with a smile. “I love you and I can’t-”

“Shhhh. Clint, Clint, it’s okay,” she coos. Her arms wrap around him and finally, with the weight off of his shoulders, Clint breaks down and cries. “It’s okay. I’m here and I’m alive and you- you’re an idiot.”

“I’m an idiot,” he cries, sniffling into her shoulder. Her gentle hand soothingly rubs his back as he continues to sob. “I’m an idiot and I don’t want to live without you! I love you! I love you, Tasha.”

She’s glad he can’t see her face then. Her smile has grown, but there are tears in her eyes as well. She’s relieved, just like he is. She plants a small kiss on his cheek as she whispers, “I know, Clint. I know. You’re my idiot.”

“I’m your idiot.” He hiccups and sobs as she chuckles. Her eyes close and tears run down her cheeks. When they pull back from one another, it’s only briefly for she leans in towards his lips. 

With a kiss, she murmurs to him, “You’re my idiot. You always have been.”


	8. "I Love You."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint tries to find the right way to say the right words to Natasha.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is - the final chapter! I'm sorry this took so long. I admit, I wrote a few others and couldn't decide the best way to end it. (I may include those as bonus chapters if anyone is interested.)
> 
> I wanted to thank everyone that read and enjoy this. I wanted to thank you all for sticking with me till the end and for the encouragement you've given me. Even just a simple kudos brightened my day. Thank you. ♥ If you have any questions or comments, please don't hesitate to give them to me.

_8\. Say it deliberately, your tongue a springboard for every syllable. Over coffee, brushing your teeth side-by-side, as you turn off the light to go to sleep – it doesn’t matter where. Do not adorn it with extra words like “I think” or “I might.” Do not sigh heavily as if admitting it were a burden instead of the most joyous thing you’ve ever done. Look her in the eyes and pray, heart thumping wildly, that she will turn to you and say, “I love you too.”_

When the sky is still and full, carrying moonbeams and secrets, that is Clint’s favorite part of the night. Though he is in bed, he isn’t alone. Natasha rests at his side, curled up, and tangled in sheets and pillows. The moonlight bathes her pale skin, illuminating her scars. He can see the jagged stab wounds by her heart and the ragged slash left by a bullet by her bellybutton and he finds them just as beautiful as she is. There’s more to Natasha than just her looks - her intelligence, her wit, her charm, her determination, her stubbornness and dorkiness and mild moral ambiguity - and he loves her all for it.

He just never told her.

There’s always the fear of rejection lurking around. There’s always the chance it could ruin what they have or make it very awkward. There’s always a ‘what if’ hanging in the air above his head. There’s always the chance someone could use it against them.

It’s really because he doesn’t know how to say it.

Try as he might, saying it in the mirror never helps. Practicing with props leaves him a stumbling, bumbling fool. In his imagination it all goes well. He’s smooth and dashing, James Bond with a bow and arrow, making love to Natasha on the beach. It’s better than reality, where he’ll spill ice cream on his shirt (awwh, ice cream) and cause her to actually giggle. The one redeeming part, besides making her giggle, is the way she’d share her cone with him while rolling her eyes, like she expected that to happen. So he’s a klutz and a spazz with a penchant for bad (and in a weird way good) luck.

So the only way for him to practice, in his mind, is to say it while she sleeps beside him.

Glancing down at the redhead next to him, he gives her a sweet, loving smile. His calloused fingers tenderly touch her cheeks and brushes through her hair. Feeling the comfort in his touch, a smile spreads across her face as she snuggles under the sheets. For all the bad he’s seen and faced, for all the mistakes and mishaps, for all the scars (both mental and physical), being able to have her at his side makes it all worth it.

Now, more than ever, he’s ready to try.

Clearing his throat, Clint looks ahead as he says, “Natasha, I love you.” Silence. It sounds too formal, he thinks, so he decides on another. “Hey, babe, I love you.” Too casual and not sincere enough. She’d look at him like he was an idiot. “I love you.” It’s simple, but lacking in something. His hand runs through her hair, scratching at her scalp. Reminded of her strength and weakness, her hard and soft points, of just her, he knows the right words.

“Hey, Tasha, y’know I love you, right?”

“I know.”

Eyes wide, Clint looks down to her, hoping it was just his imagination. It wasn’t. Her voice was low, like she just woke up, but looking up at him with her cat-like eyes was Natasha. He wasn’t sure how much she heard, but he was sure she heard enough.

Licking his dry lips, he asks, “You’re up? Since when?”

He’s surprised he can hear her reply, despite the rapid beating of his heart. “A while. Since you gave me that little head massage.” She pauses. “Well, a little before that.”

“So, you-”

“I heard everything.”

The silence is awkward as the two stare at one another. Clint can’t focus on his racing thoughts or thunderous heartbeat, only the playful smirk on her face. It’s something he trusts, as strange as it sounds, though it doesn’t settle the tension. He can only give a one-word reply. “Oh.”

This makes Natasha chuckle. It’s not malicious or mean, but light and accepting, like she expected that from him. (She did.) He tilts his head at her as she asks, “Did you want to tell me something or want my answer?”

He looks at her, confused as he asks back, “Didn’t you hear everything though?”

“You could do it properly.”

“Oh!” It’s that same one-worded reply. As he clears his throat, Natasha’s chuckles turn to light, airy giggles. Being with her, seeing her bathed in moonlight, eyes twinkling as she smiles, it feels so easy for him now. There’s no hesitation, no need to think it over.

It’s like everything was leading to the perfect moment and this was it.

“Tasha, I love you.”

“I love you too, Clint.”

The two spies lean forward, pressing their lips together in a warm, tender kiss. In it was the words uttered just seconds ago. In it was the depth of emotions they can never find words for. In it was a future of strength and vulnerabilities, a future of give and take, a future of possibilities, a future of them.

In the kiss and in their naked embrace was one of the many different ways to say “I love you.”


End file.
